Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Shapely Shadow

From time to time I have tried to emphasize the importance of legal medicine by writing brief forewords to the Perry Mason books and dedicating them to outstanding figures in the field. It is, of course, only natural that nearly all of these men have been doctors of medicine, for the most part those who have specialized in forensic pathology.

I now want to make a dedication to a man who is a lawyer, rather than a doctor, and who has done much to advance the cause of legal medicine.

Marshall Houts, a former member of the FBI, an undercover investigator during the war in foreign countries, an attorney at law, a former college professor in the field of criminal law, has worked with me for years in the Court of Last Resort.

In recent years he has devoted much of his time to the field of legal medicine, trying to see that attorneys understand the importance of having an arsenal of medical facts at their command; trying to see that the average general practitioner who is called as a witness will have some idea of the courtroom procedure, the tricks of cross-examination and a knowledge of the traps which shrewd attorneys quite frequently lay for the medical witness who is more versed in the science of medicine than in a knowledge of courtroom technique.

While a comparatively young man, Houts already has authored several books which have attracted considerable attention: From Evidence to Proof; From Arrest to Release; Courtroom Medicine, and The Rules of Evidence. He is at present working upon a more ambitious program — one by which the medical doctor who has had little or no courtroom experience but who finds himself a witness in a case, can understand the problems of the procedures involved in court. He is also editor in chief of Trauma, a bimonthly medico-legal publication which gives lawyers an invaluable aid in coping with the medical problems which arise in the courtroom.

For years we have been close personal friends. We have worked together on investigations for the Court of Last Resort and many of the Court of Last Resort presentations I have made from time to time have been founded upon the investigative work of Houts.

The reason I am dedicating this book to him, however, is because of the outstanding work he is doing in the field of legal medicine.

It is important that the public understand the importance of legal medicine and that more and more specialists in the field be developed. Modern civilization is becoming quite complex and we must keep pace with the numerous problems which are presented by this complex existence.

Marshall Houts is making a great contribution in the field and so I dedicate this book to my friend

MARSHALL HOUTS.

Erle Stanley Gardner

Della Street, Perry Mason’s confidential secretary, opened the door of the lawyer’s private office, then stood facing the lawyer, her shapely hips pressing the palms of her flattened hands against the door leading to the reception room.

Mason regarded her quizzically. “Now what mischief are you up to?” he asked.

“Mischief?” she inquired demurely.

“Mischief,” Mason repeated. “Long experience has taught me that when you place your hips and the palms of your hands against the door and then look at me with that particular expression, it’s because you feel you have some particularly delectable tidbit of information. Come on, Della, out with it. Is Gertie, at the switchboard, studying another diet which is guaranteed to take off ten pounds in two weeks?”

Della Street shook her head. “It’s a client,” she said.

Mason frowned, then suddenly smiled. “Knowing you as I do,” he said, “the client is a beautiful young woman with an air of mystery about her and you’re dying to find out what it’s all about. You’re just a little afraid that I won’t agree to see her because we have an appointment in fifteen minutes and you’re hoping to arouse my curiosity with this build-up.”

Della Street moved slowly away from the door and came toward the lawyer’s desk.

“Am I right?”

She nodded. “Except, she’s not beautiful but she could be beautiful.”

“What do you mean by that?” Mason asked.

“Apparently,” Della Street said, “she has deliberately tried to make herself unbeautiful.”

“And that is part of the mystery?”

“It’s intriguing,” Della Street said. “Looks like the groundwork for the good old Hollywood touch, the plain little girl who suddenly blossoms into a Cinderella.”

“And you think this one will blossom?”

“Under your influence, yes. Did you ever see a movie where they didn’t? These days when women spend so much money making themselves beautiful, it’s darned intriguing to see one who has gone to great pains to look less beautiful than she is.”

Mason said, “What about the statistics, Della?”

“Her name is Janice Wainwright. She’s well proportioned with curves, but not bulges. She is chestnut brown — brown hair, brown eyes and a certain amount of warmth.”

“The way you’re describing her,” Mason said, “you make her sound like an article of merchandise you’re trying to sell. Now, come on, Della, out with it. What’s the mystery?”

“Well,” Della Street said, “I think she’s running away from someone or something, and I have an idea she’s got hold of some very damaging piece of evidence which she won’t let out of her possession. She’s carrying a brand-new suitcase which apparently is quite heavy, and she can’t quit worrying about it. She seems to be afraid someone might steal it right here in the office. She sits so that one foot is kept pressing against the suitcase. She keeps her hand dangling so that the tips of her gloved fingers are only a quarter of an inch from the handle of the suitcase and occasionally she moves her hand, brushing her fingers against the suitcase, just reassuring herself that it’s still there.”

“And did she tell you what she wanted?” Mason asked.

“She says it’s a very confidential matter and it has to do with a problem in ethics. She says she won’t take much time but she simply must see you. She wanted to know how much you charged for an office consultation.”

“What did you tell her?” Mason asked.

“I told her it depended on the problem, the amount of money involved and things of that sort; that she’d have to talk with you in person.”

“And so,” Mason said, “you came in to sell me on the idea of seeing her. You know we have an appointment within a few minutes with John Sears. You know that he never wants to wait for as much as a minute. You know that a month ago we adopted a rule we would see people by appointment only and— What the devil, send her in, Della.”

Della rewarded him with a smile, went out and returned with a remarkably well shaped young woman who was carrying a heavy new suitcase and whose eyes showed apprehension.

Mason noted the little touches Della Street had described: the lipstick which made the mouth seem too thin and too straight, the large horn-rimmed spectacles, the austerity of the clothes and the flat-heeled shoes.

“How do you do, Miss Wainwright,” Mason said. “I’m Perry Mason. I have this morning pretty well filled up with appointments. My first one is due in a little less than fifteen minutes. You’ll have to be brief.

“Della Street, my confidential secretary, will take notes.

“Now then, I’m sorry to have to rush you, but can you come to the point with as few preliminaries as possible?”

She smiled her acknowledgment, said, “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Mason. It’s... it’s about a matter of ethics.”